


A Rare Night of Peace

by ProblematicFavesAreProblematic (SaritaNotSerena)



Category: Band of Brothers (TV 2001)
Genre: F/M
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2020-12-20
Updated: 2020-12-20
Packaged: 2021-03-10 19:53:31
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,708
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/28182705
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/SaritaNotSerena/pseuds/ProblematicFavesAreProblematic
Relationships: Ronald Speirs/Reader
Kudos: 8





	A Rare Night of Peace

Ron Speirs x Reader Drabble

**Summary:** Some truths are revealed over a rare night of peace. A few are more impactful than others.

 **Warnings** : none, some potty words. Literally no plot, just drabble bc why not. _~~It’s not very good but I’m working on writing scenes with dialogue from multiple characters so thank you for your time~~_

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She gaped at him, and Lip snorted in laughter she couldn’t help but join in.

“You _didn’t_.” Y/n accused, a note of betrayal in her voice as Ron tellingly smirks while he goes about collecting his winnings.

She couldn't believe it. She would’ve been truly pissed if she hadn’t been so surprised at Nixon’s revelation. Lip is giving her shoulder a squeeze of mock comfort, laughing again when she shakes him off with a hiss of _shut it._

“Are you seriously trying to tell me that you were _coddling_ me in poker?!” 

Speirs shoots her a look of ignorance. “I’m _sure_ I don’t know what they’re talking about.”

She rolls her eyes, pushing away from the table and going over to her jacket by the door to get a new tie for her hair.

“You let me play against Malarkey and Carwood!!” she said with a glare when she got back shaking her head with obvious disappointment. “You let me _bet_ against Malarkey and Carwood!”

“And you _won_ , didn’t you?” he asks with a quirk of his brow, undisguised mirth in his expression.. “‘Sides, Donald Malarkey can’t bluff to save his life and Lipton doesn’t know how to play at all.”

Car’s smile of amusement disappears and a look of annoyance crosses his face. “I _know_ how to play—”

“Oh yeah, so why are you playing blackjack at the poker table?”

She leans back in her seat and sighs, glaring at the back of Ron’s head. “ _Traitor_.”

He snorts in amusement, knocking on the table to signal the end of his turn. “Not the worst thing I’ve been accused of being.”

She shakes her head, glaring at Bull’s unmasked amusement at her frustration. 

Narrowing her eyes, she turns to Nixon and smiles sweetly. 

“While we’re sharing harsh truths- _Nix_? Bull, Luz, and Gonorrhea have been paying me in chocolate bars to smuggle your whiskey out of Dick’s stuff. They’ve been putting it back with some amber colored replacement they’ve concocted—”

“They _fucking WHAT?!”_

 _“_ Oh, _come_ on! What’d _I_ do to get thrown under the train?” Bull groans, shooting her a glare before turning to deal with the appalled Nixon, who was reaching for his bottle of Vat 69 and holding it up to the light with skeptical horror.

While she pursed her lips and sent Bull an air kiss he angrily bats away like a mosquito, Malarkey took his turn before nodding for Welsh to begin his turn. 

Peeking over Ron’s shoulder, she tried to get a peek of what cards he held in his hand, only to be caught by the man himself when she almost leaned too far out of her seat and had to catch herself on the back of his chair so she did not fall.

“ _Cheater_ ,” he snarked, a dark chuckle escaping his chest when she smacked his bicep in retaliation. 

Without looking away from the game Ron hooks his foot around one of the legs of her chair, using a strong leg to drag her (and her seat) up close beside him until their thighs are pressed together, the wood of the chair leg whining as it was dragged across the stone floor. “Like I’d show you my cards without making sure you aren’t giving me away with your _piss-poor_ poker face—”

“I’ll have you know that I have an _excellent_ poker face, sir.” she dramatically flicks her hair over her shoulder, intentionally hitting him in the face with the still damp strands. “You’re the one who _smells_ _lies_ or whatever it is you do…”

“I thought it was _fear_ that you said you could smell, Lt. Speirs?” Lipton joked quietly, earning a chuckle from those still paying attention to the game.

“I think _you’re_ thinking of dogs or bees, Lt. Lipton.” Ron says cooly, no inflection in his voice as he watches Lip take a card and add it to his hand.

“Well, that would make your former position in Dog Company all the more ironic, wouldn’t it?” Y/n said quietly, working as hard as she could to keep a smile off of her face.

Lipton _guffawed_ loudly, the sound making her laugh as well. Ron looked like he wanted to kick her chair over, his hatred of puns and wordplay well known to her by this point.

“And just for _that_ ,” Ron takes a deep breath, flipping his cards over and throwing them in the middle for everyone to see. “I’m not going to teach you the trick to win this game every time.”

“God, _DAMNIT_ , Speirs!” Bull cursed, throwing his cards down in frustration as Nixon continued to interrogate him about his precious alcohol. “I fucking _knew_ you just were fucking with us...”

“Y/N, what the fuck?” Welsh hit her arm. “I was counting on your tell to tell me what cards he had! Doesn’t your vein pop out of your forehead or something?”

“ _That’s_ Joe Liebgott...and he doesn’t do it anymore since _someone_ taught him how to _control_ _it_!” Malarkey glared openly at Bull, who held his hands up in surrender.

“Luz had taken _all the boy’s cigarettes,_ Don! What was I supposed to do? It was getting sad to watch…”

She smiles at the scene around her, feeling privileged to be able to see all of these men relaxed at the same time. Malark hadn’t laughed and teased so openly since Bastogne, and she remembered how when they had first met he had been laughing as well.

She hoped this was the beginning of something good for Donald Malarkey. 

He _deserved_ something good.

Ron’s hand on her knee startles her slightly, the heat of his hand unfamiliar and unexpected. But when she looks around and sees no sign of danger, she looks down at his hand as if she’s never seen one before, cheeks heating at the sight of it. 

His thumb moves slightly, almost as if he was trying to offer some sort of reassurance. When she finds the courage to look at his face she sees that he is watching her just as carefully, as if he too is somewhat surprised by his bold action.

Turning to look across the table, she saw that none of the other men seemed to take notice of their exchange, all of them talking about some replacements she hadn’t met and lamenting their greenness.

No one knew that Ron Speirs, _the_ Ron speirs, was touching her. No one had seen how flustered it was making her.

_Well, thank God for small blessings…_

“Y/N, is this—?” he began to ask under his breath, but she couldn’t bear to hear him second guess his boldness, so she quickly moved her hand to cover his and hold it in place. When he slightly raised a brow she nodded as subtle as she could, confirming that yes, she did want this.

She _did_ want him.

With a squeeze that she hoped conveyed her whole-hearted invitation to join her, she stood from her seat and made a point to stretch her arms above her head in a big stretch.

“I think I’m gonna call it a night,” she says with a yawn, the sound almost slipping out as a squeal when she feels Ron’s fingertips touch the back of her knee in a way that was so deliberately distracting that she had to _really_ focus on keeping her expression passive. “Unless there’s anything else for me to look over, Lewie—?”

The slightly drunk man shook his head emphatically and pointed to the door grandly. 

“Go forth woman, I free you from your shackles. Get thee to a chaise lounge post haste and rest that big, beautiful brain of yours!”

She can’t help but laugh at his theatrics, making a show of pulling her coat over her shoulders and wrapping it around her.

“Alas, there is _nary_ a chaise in sight, fair sir. Might I perhaps be so bold as to ask his royal highness for permission to substitute a fainting couch for a lumpy floor mattress in an apartment filled with no fewer than thirteen haunted dolls?”

Standing with a quickness someone as intoxicated as he was shouldn’t have been able to manage, he hits his fist against his chest and nods.

“Off with you, then. I tire of your dawdling!”

Bull boos from his seat, throwing a card at her as she slings her bag over her shoulder. “Go do Shakespeare somewhere else, you nerds. You’re hurting my head…”

Making a sound of false sympathy, she walks over to the blonde man and squeezes the tight muscles of his shoulders, something that made Bull groan with relief and her laugh at his reaction.

“Anything for _you,_ Mr. Randleman.”

Giving his shoulders one final squeeze she heads to the door. “Night guys—”

“Wait,” Ron said as she walked by his seat, scooting his own chair back and reaching for his stuff. “I’ll walk you. Gotta find the mailroom anyway.”

Heart in her throat, she watched as Ron casually slung his gun over his shoulder, looking as if he hadn't just taken the first step in what was certain to be a complex dance she never thought she’d actually have to perform. Not that it mattered, she was determined to see this through.

_You’re allowed to be selfish, you know. If you want something, and it’s there waiting for you, then why the fuck would you just let it get away?_

He’d been talking about stealing from estates at the time, but now she was wondering if he had been talking in riddles intentionally. 

_She wouldn’t put it past him._

No one bothered to give more than a wave as the two of them fell into step, the dark of the house swallowing them up. 

When he grabbed her hand in the dark, she smiled.

Y/N had a feeling that Ron was going to make his intentions _very_ clear tonight.

_About time._


End file.
